


This Ain't Heaven (But It Could Be)

by oneluckystriker



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Just Like Heaven au, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Mutual Pining, Not Really Character Death, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-24 08:25:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14351685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneluckystriker/pseuds/oneluckystriker
Summary: All Babe wanted was a decent apartment. One that wasn't some hippy shrine, or decked out in weird statues and freaky portraits. A place he could feel comfortable laying his head down at night. When he finally finds the place of his dreams, however, the last thing he expects is to find it haunted by the ghost of a grouchy Cajun who doesn't even remember who he is or how he got there. And what hereallydoesn't expect is to fall in love along the way...Or, theJust Like HeavenAU you never knew you needed.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I wrote anything, but I happened to be rewatching this movie a while back and it suddenly hit me how well the story would fit into a Babe/Roe narrative. Et voilà, the beast was born!
> 
> Warning ahead for terrible, glaring medical inaccuracies (Google can only get you so far), and a blasphemous composition of the French language. Growing up French Canadian, then eventually losing that part of myself throughout the years, I do know enough to get by but still had to run to Google to make sure it was at least semi-coherent. Ergo, it probably unintentionally came out as a weird mixture of traditional French, Québécois, and French Cajun... oops? I'm sure if it's too cringeworthy, someone will let me know.
> 
> Follows the movie for the most part, but I have changed a few things to better include the other Easy boys and have it actually make sense. Rating may go up in future chapters, who knows? Not sure how often I'll update, but I do already have a few chapters under my belt so it shouldn't be too long.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!!

“Eugene.”

“Eugene…”

“Yo, Doc!”

Eugene gave an undignified groan from where he had been more or less passed out on the edge of the cheap staff room table, Nurse Spina’s hand still gripping his shoulder like a vice.

Whatever blissful state he had been in moments before was shot the moment he opened his eyes. The persistent chill of the hospital immediately invaded his hunched figure, piercing fluorescent lights hummed overhead, and the general chaos of the corridors filtered in through the open doors, reminding him of exactly where he was and just how long he’d been there. What he was not prepared for was the mind-blowing, bone-shattering ache in his neck as he attempted to raise his head from where it had been nestled in the crook of his arms on the table’s surface.

Okay, so maybe he underestimated _exactly_ how long he’d been here, he thought, kneading the muscles at the nape of his neck.

“How long was I out?”

Spina checked the watch on his wrist and gave Eugene a gentle pat on the shoulder as he brought his hand away. “About half an hour.” He didn’t think he was imagining the note of sympathy in the nurse’s voice when he said it, either.

“Alright. Alright…” he conceded, “I’ll be right there.”

Spina nodded and turned away, telling him he’d be waiting for him outside when he was ready. Eugene could only nod and try not to give another miserable whine.

Half hour wasn’t bad, he conceded. Half hour was fine. Truthfully, he’d been on longer shifts with less sleep. He’d once worked a twenty-nine with nothing but a six-minute cat-nap and two shots of espresso in between. Half hour was _great_.

With that thought he propelled himself out of the plastic chair he had planted himself in and turned immediately to the coffee machine, grabbing the largest paper cup he could find and filling it to the brim with cheap, steaming Americano. It was in this state - blinking blearily down at his liquid life partner - that the head nurse Renée LeMaire found him in.

Her blonde hair, where it was pinned up around her head, looked like a virtual halo under the harsh hospital lights, and white lab coat billowed out behind her like wings. But her expression was stony, like that of a mother about to scold a troublesome young child.

“Eugene!” she hissed; smooth French accent making even her hot indignation sound melodious. “How long have you been here?”

He had to think about it for a second, squinting his eyes with the effort.

“Uh… Twenty-eight?”

“Twenty-eight? Mais, c’est fou, ça! Go home, Eugene. We can handle things without you for a few hours, non?”

“I know, I know.” he clutched his coffee to his chest and brought a hand up to rub at his furrowed brow. He was sure he could feel a headache starting, just behind his temples. “But I’ve been waiting on those x-rays for Mrs Kowalski’s tibia, and I was supposed to do a patch-up on one of Sobel’s guys twenty minutes ago, which means I’m already late. Pardonnez-moi.”

Renée whirled around as he attempted to scootch by, hands coming up to rest on her hips.

“Sobel? Sobel can take care of his own patients, Eugene, he certainly boasts about it enough! You need to go home and get some rest. You can’t work properly when you are dead on your feet!”

“I know, and I will!” he reassured her, retreating backwards through the door. “Just as soon as I’m done this.”

“Eugene!”

“Soon as I’m done this, Renée! Je te promets!”

Renée watched him escape through the door with pursed lips and a shake of her head. If it was up to her she would happily go the rest of her life never again having to deal with another stubborn, idiot doctor, thank you very much. Evidently just one was more than any sane woman should be expected to handle.

“Fais ceci, Renée, fais ça, Renée. Arrêter cet idiot de se faire tuer, Renée. Il faut être bête comme ce garçon là.”

Out in the corridor Eugene had caught up with Spina, weaving in and around foot traffic together with practiced ease, flipping through patients’ folders as they went. Half of these weren’t even his, he thought with a sigh. Still, he dutifully skimmed the files and gave his input before depositing them back in Spina’s arms.

Adams, for instance, only needed to know how to care for and redress her sutures then could immediately be discharged. That was an easy one, any nurse could take care of it. What was more worrying was Ellis’ swollen ankles. It could be as simple as a hairline fracture, but considering the patient’s age and weight he’d rather first rule out anything more serious like congestive heart or liver failure, so ordered an EKG to be performed as soon as possible.

“Where are we on Mrs Kowalski’s x-rays?”

“The lab’s all backed up, Gene, it’s a mess down there. Last I heard they were still being processed. I’ll send someone down to check it out.”

“Thank you.”

“Speaking of checking something out-” Eugene just barely suppressed a groan. “You still single? ‘Cause I’ve got a friend who-”

“X-rays, Spina!”

“Okay, okay!” The nurse chuckled and raised his palms in surrender, turning on his heel and heading back to the nurse’s station with a squeak of his shoes. Mon dieu, the boy’s persistence was staggering.

Ralph Spina was an excellent nurse, Eugene amended, there was no denying that. And ever since they met, on Spina’s first shift at TJUH three years ago, they’ve been good friends. That is, when he wasn’t trying to set him up with his friends or cousins or virtual strangers he’d bumped into on the street. Not for the first time he wondered why Spina was so intent on getting him into a relationship when he himself had been single for going on a year now. As Bull would say, the boy’s priorities were more turned around than a meth head at a police convention.

He was still smirking at the colourful image that conjured up when he came upon Sobel’s patient (or rather, Eugene’s patient who was intended to have been Sobel’s), still sitting quietly on a cot behind a curtain, hand wrapped twice over in what he assumed used to be a blue dish towel but has since turned a grisly shade of brown. His stomach turned with guilt at the scene - he should have been here over twenty minutes ago, not drooling on a dented, coffee-stained dining table.

It turned out Miss Morris was understanding, however, a fact which Eugene was terribly thankful for yet didn’t think he rightly deserved. As such, Eugene paid special attention to disinfecting and suturing the wound in her hand while he tried to put both hers and his own mind at ease (“Ain’t that bad, Mrs Morris, ain’t that bad. I seen plenty worse.” “‘Miss’, Doctor Roe, please. I’ve been divorced a long time.”).

The whole thing only took ten to fifteen minutes, by which time he assumed those radiographs had to have finally been ready. And if not he’d damn well go down there and get them himself!

“That’s it, Miss Morris, you’re free to go. Just do as I said and it shouldn’t give you any trouble.” In a reassuring gesture he clasped her uninjured hand in both of his and helped her to her feet, steadying her when she swayed with the effort. “If there’s anything else I can do for you just ask.”

“Marry me?”

Eyebrows shot up to his hairline at the unexpected proposal, gaze darting over to her daughter-in-law sitting in the corner, who now had her head buried deep in her hands.

“Maybe another time, Miss Morris, I kinda got my hands full today.”

The daughter-in-law’s embarrassed voice followed Eugene as he made his retreat down the hallway, complaining loudly that she couldn’t take her anywhere anymore. It wasn’t the first proposal he’d gotten, by any means, but the patients who did ask were usually a lot more drugged out of their minds and a lot less aware of what, exactly, they were doing. Miss Morris… Miss Morris was only an anomaly in that she hadn’t a drop of morphine in her system and was presumably frightfully sincere in her proposal.

“Gettin’ married again?”

Eugene looked up to see Spina walking his way, mercifully clutching a stack of radiographs under his right arm.

“Huh?”

“You get this look when patients propose to you. Like a constipated otter.”

The doctor rolled his eyes. He was already well and truly done with this conversation, thank you very much. He just wanted to get this over with so he could go home and pass out on his couch for at least twenty-four hours. Instead he snagged one of the x-rays from the stack and held it up to the light, cataloguing each shard and splinter making up the mangled bone and mentally piecing it back together.

“You give any thought to tonight?”

“Tonight?” he murmured, holding up another one and comparing it to the first.

“Yeah, tonight. I told you about it a couple days ago, you said you’d get back to me. Tried to bring it up earlier but you got all prickly.” When Eugene only frowned harder at the ghostly black and white pictures, he gave a huff and barrelled on. “I’m gettin’ together with some of my friends at Toccoa’s later on, thought you might want to join me. Drinks, music… good company?”

Now it was Eugene’s turn to huff, letting the glamour shot fall to his side and turning a sour look on his friend. Spina hurried to cut off what was sure to be a very long, very dour lecture.

“Now, just hear me out! He’s been my friend since we were tykes, Gene, he’s a hell of a guy! A bit of a disaster, sure, but a hell of a guy! And, hey, it ain’t even really a date if you don’t want it to be. Just a bunch of friends going out for some drinks, getting to know one-another. What do you say?”

The earnest, dopey look in his eyes was almost enough to make Gene fold right then and there. He’d always had a soft spot for pathetic creatures, it was one of the reasons he went into medicine in the first place. But he was also stubborn and he’d told Spina countless times before, he was _not_ interested in a blind date. Just as he opened his mouth to drive the point home, though, Spina came back swinging.

“Just one!” he pleaded, holding up his index finger like a visual Hail Mary. “Just go on this one date, which ain’t even really a date, and I swear I’ll never bother you about it again. Won’t even tease you when the next old lady proposes to you with her ass hangin’ halfway out of her gown. On my ma’s grave, I swear it!”

“Your mother ain’t dead, Spina, I spoke to her last week."

“It’s- that’s not- look, that ain’t the point, Gene. Please?”

The two men fell into an intense staring match and Eugene could feel his resolve crumbling the longer the silence stretched on. Damn it, he did _not_ want to go on a blind date. He wanted to go home and drown himself in blankets and fall asleep to shitty, late night/early morning television and ads for products he would never need.

“One!” he said, holding out his own index finger and making sure Spina saw it. “Just one, Spina, just this once! Now, please, admit Mrs Kowalski while I get in touch with the nearest orthopedic surgeon. From what I can see she’ll need at least three pins in that leg if she ever wants to walk again.”

Spina let out a victorious cry, punching the air and grinning from ear-to ear. He walked away with an honest-to-God spring in his step and Eugene could only contrarily watch him go with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Encule-moi, why do I feel like I’m making a big mistake?”

It was another three hours before he was able to actually leave the hospital that night, much to the chagrin of Renée when she saw him ducking in and out of rooms and being pulled from one patient to the next all night like a damn lap dog.

First it was giving one of the nurses an extra hand in popping a dislocated shoulder back into place. Then he had to subdue a rowdy patient who was getting much too intimate with a wall and much too violent with Sobel. From there it turned into a blur of blowing up medical gloves for sad little girls and fending off wandering hands from his rear when all he wanted to do was keep a man from bleeding on the shiny linoleum floor. It was diagnosing kidney stones and bladder infections and broken toes, and holding back patients’ hair as they hurled with varying precision into mop buckets. Stitching, slicing and disinfecting until he was absolutely sure no one was going to die on his watch.

Now that he had the chance to stop, though, and the adrenaline (and coffee) was slowly filtering out of his system, he could feel the exhaustion sitting heavy in his bones. It was like his whole body was suddenly made of lead. His head pounded, eyes stung, muscles ached… He could hardly even bring himself to change out of his scrubs but eventually conceded when he caught sight of himself in the washroom mirror and saw the stains that had accumulated over his shift. Slowly, like moving through molasses, he pulled on some worn jeans and an old henley, and shoved his scrubs carelessly into his gym bag to deal with later. Then he said his goodbyes, gave one last-ditch effort in trying to reason with Spina, and let Renée drag him to the front doors before anyone else could intercept them.

Eugene knew the get-together Spina had roped him into was at eight that evening, at a place called Toccoa’s, a local pub and eatery he’d been to only a few times before, and since now it was only just past two in the morning he figured he would have plenty of time to get that nap in that he so desperately needed before he had to make himself presentable. There was no room in him right now to feel anxious about who the mystery man Spina wanted to set him up with was, or what he would wear, or what he would say when he got there. All he wanted was sleep.

Sweet, blissful sleep, and then maybe he’d worry about how bad a decision this was later.

Until then, he pulled out into the deserted road and headed for home.

The sky was pitch-black, void of stars, but lamp-posts lit the way every few yards with a murky yellow glow. He remembered the stars back in Louisiana. How bright they were; how it looked like someone had flung diamonds onto a sea of dark velvet. It was one of the things he missed the most, working in this city; the stars.

Eugene shook himself from his depressing thoughts as he pulled up to a stop sign, looking both directions and finding just more empty streets. Needing a distraction he reached for the radio and pulled forward, messing with the volume and then toggling the preset radio stations to find one that wouldn’t lull him even further into unconsciousness.

He had just barely pulled away from the stop sign, settling on a rock station playing some classic 80s hits, when he heard it. A loud horn getting even louder, like a mosquito flying straight for your ear. His head snapped up, neck still giving a twinge from all those hours ago, and saw light, light, light, impossibly close, impossibly fast. His heart gave a lurch, floored the brakes, braced himself against his seat, then felt the impact.

His whole world turned upside down and inside out and the whole time the radio kept playing.

Eugene Roe saw diamond stars and velvet sky, and then - nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

“This place is Heaven!”

Babe Heffron eyed the minimalist interior. The clean, crisp lines, the bullshit feng shui, Kumbaya, modern-hippy refuge, and scrunched his nose like he smelled something foul. It was so clean, so non-offensive, he actually wanted to hurl.

Debra Williams, on the other hand, breathed it in like she was smelling daisies, walking around the room like it was the damned Smithsonian.

“It’s been photographed for magazines,” the peppy realtor gushed, voice sickly sweet, clutching her bag like a string of pearls.

This was the sixth place they’d been to today. And yeah, Babe told himself, six stops, in the grand scheme of things, that wasn’t too bad. Six well-kept lofts in a city as packed and run-down as South Philly, that was almost a damn miracle. Only, the places she kept bringing them to… well, they weren’t great. In fact, it seemed like they just kept getting worse.

Not so much in the scuzzy, piss on the ceiling, blood on the mantelpiece sort of way. But in the “what in the hell does the nutjob who owns this apartment look like” sort of way. The way that makes you question how wackadoo you have to be to put a giant zen garden in the middle of your apartment in a gross imitation of a little box.

It was in this moment, standing next to a statue of Buddha and gazing down at the would-be kitty litter, a damn rake sticking out the middle of it, that Babe was gravely regretting not taking Bill up on his offer.

The man had just recently bought a house of his own alongside the newly appointed Mrs Frannie Guarnere. It wasn’t big, by any means, but it had a furnished basement and a decent kitchen and he offered to let Babe sublet it for a fraction of the cost of what he would be paying for a new lease. Of course, Babe _had_ taken advantage for just a few weeks. Just long enough to get on his feet, save up some money and go apartment hunting. But he didn’t want to stay there indefinitely, no way.

Bill and Frannie were just recently married, after all, hadn’t even gone on a damn honeymoon, and Babe was damned if he was going to be the cause of any stress in this new chapter of their lives. Besides, he was a Heffron, he could make his own way. If there was one thing Heffrons knew how to do, it was how to make the best of a shitty situation. Make lemonade out of piss, or however that saying goes, he never much payed attention.

Point was he’d find something, eventually, he just had to keep looking.

Bill Guarnere came sauntering out of the kitchen then, hands in his pockets, all scuffed up shoes, ratty jeans, and leather jacket, giving the zen garden in the middle of the room the stink eye. “Yeah, I thought we said we were gonna need something furnished.”

“Well it... _is_ furnished.”

Babe’s eyes locked on Bill’s before drifting around the sparse room and coming to land on the throw cushions placed deliberately around a small table, sitting no more than three inches off the ground.

“Where’s the damn couch?”

 

* * *

 

“Do you believe all of this space?” Debra’s voice echoed in the loft-style apartment, despite all the large, shapeless objects adorned throughout the room.

Exposed brick, two levels, open windows on the east side. It would have been nice, Babe thought, if not for the Calder-inspired sculptures, backless furniture, and, oh yeah, the fat, looming head of a man smiling down from the wall in the largest and ugliest portrait Babe had ever seen in his life.

“Yeah, it’ll be great for all those raves you’ll be throwing, Babe.”

Babe could hear Bill’s mocking guffaw from where he was no doubt nosing around upstairs.

“Aw, stuff it, Gonorrhea.”

The biting effect he was going for was slightly lost, however, when he tried to take a seat on the low, cherry red couch and promptly tumbled straight off the back of it; feet in the air and head straight into what could only be described as a giant desk lamp spotlighting the mocking face on the wall in front of him.

A loud snort echoed again from upstairs and Debra crossed her hands in front of her.

“I’m... sensing a no?”

Babe glared up at her from where he sat, sprawled out like a marionette on the floor.

 

* * *

 

They didn’t even bother stepping past the threshold of the next place. Bill took one look at the living room through the doorway; the classical sculptures of naked men adorned throughout the room, the piano that probably cost more than his life, the gold-trimmed table and bookcases, and knew it was a disaster waiting to happen. No way this knucklehead would last two seconds in this place without somehow tripping and setting everything on fire, let alone live there for the foreseeable future. He shuddered at the thought. Without uttering a word, Bill shook his head and closed the door, ushering Babe back down the hallway.

Honestly, Babe had been trying to keep his hopes up all day, but this last place just left him feeling disillusioned. And it seemed the others were starting to pick up on that feeling too. Back on the street outside, the atmosphere had unmistakably changed.

“Listen, come back to my place with me, Babe. We’ll give it another few weeks, you can get your bearings, something’s bound to open up that you’ll like.”

“I ain’t living in your basement like a damn sewer rat, Bill.” he grouched, peeling off a brightly coloured flyer that had attached itself to his leg with the wind, and throwing it over his shoulder.

“You know Fran and I don’t mind putting you up for a little while, kid. Or maybe Julian will let you sleep on his couch. I’m sure his roommate won’t mind. Or-”

“Bill, I ain’t doin’ it. I’m getting a place _today_ , end of story.”

“Listen, dumbass-”

“Maybe if you just let me know exactly what you’re looking for-” Debra piped in, anxiously waving her hands in the air.

“You already got a couch, and a bed, and you’re stuff’s already moved in-”

“Maybe if you told me a little bit about yourself. Your job, your family situation-”

“Yeah, I don’t think so, lady.” the flyer clung neatly onto his leg again and he frowned this time when he shucked it off with even more force.

“It ain’t gonna kill ya to accept some help, Babe-”

“Okay, then here’s another idea-”

Both ground to a dead halt when the persistent fuschia pink flyer went up into the air this time and came right back down, smack-dab in the middle of Babe Heffron’s face. He could feel himself boiling, wanting to scream, bone-tired and frustrated, until he stopped and actually read the words printed before him.

 _SUBLET_ , it said, in bold black letters. _AVAILABLE FOR RENT._ Then the attributes of the apartment squished together in shorthand, the address, and a number at the bottom where you could contact the owner.

He could hear Debra starting up again, a persistent drone in the background, but he wasn’t paying attention. All his focus zeroed in on the small, unassuming square of paper now clutched in his hands, reading the address and then reading it again just to make sure. He could have sworn…

Babe’s head snapped up, a cautious frown pulling at the corners of his mouth, and peeked around Debra’s flailing hands to see the number plastered on the side of the building they just left. Yes - 1659, that must mean... He turned around and his stomach gave a hopeful flip.

In his time growing up, Babe would often hear the nuns throwing around words like “Divine Intervention”. To which Babe would snort and roll his eyes and under the Sister’s harsh gaze, pretend that he didn’t. It was all fooey. Hogwash. Bullshit. Things either happened or they didn’t, far as he could tell, and no Big Man in the sky would change his mind. But if those Sisters were here right now, he’d kiss them silly.

Across the street stood a three-story apartment building, with ugly pink walls peeking out from the climbing ivy, and peeling white and green trim making it look like a freaky doll house brought to life. The numbers 1660 were rusted into the wood on a post outside - 1660, just like on the flyer! - and in that moment Babe swore he’d never seen anything more beautiful. Without looking he shoved the paper into Bill’s hands and made to jog eagerly across the street, Bill sputtering obscenities the whole way.

It was a few minutes wait for the landlord to make the trip down with a set of keys, but when they finally crossed the threshold Babe knew it was worth it.

He kept waiting for obscenely large zen gardens to be waiting for him around the corner, or massive, black and white portraits smiling down from the walls, but they never came. With a tremendous amount of caution he admitted, it was actually nice!

The walls were a muted yellow, with hardwood floors and a dark wood trim around open entryways and glass-paned windows. Two shelving units seemed to be built into the foundation, protruding from the floor to the ceiling, to separate the living area from the dining room and foyer. Furniture old and worn in, mismatched dining chairs, a rusted space heater, floral curtains… the only modern thing in the place seemed to be the flat screen TV, and even that was far from the latest model. The whole place should have felt old-lady-ish, but it just felt cozy and welcoming. Like a quiet B&B or his Ma’s kitchen...

It felt like coming home.

Behind him Bill was dutifully asking the important questions, and Debra was saying something about a tragedy in the family. Babe wasn’t listening.

He ran his fingers carefully along the wooden shelves, taking everything in with more care than he had probably done anything in his whole damn life. Every surface seemed to be filled with assorted items. A whole life boiled down to these tiny knick-knacks. Novels, cookbooks, and medical texts (more than any sane person would think necessary), with big words Babe had no hope of pronouncing. Candles, a dented zippo, a dusty rosary... And he smiled when every once in a while, like Easter eggs, he would see small wooden carvings of alligators, whose heads bobbed up and down when he poked them.

There were no personal photos - none that he could see, at least. But there were a few nondescript paintings hanging on the walls, and one that said, he assumed, something in French. But whether it was supposed to be cheesy and romantic or witty and playful he had no idea.

The truth is, Babe Heffron was a spitfire. A constant whirlwind of jokes and obscenities and stories he found pretty darn interesting but everyone else tended to roll their eyes at. Not even the nuns could get him to shut his trap. In this moment, however, he was silent.

He lowered himself into the plush red couch, pushing aside the unnecessary amount of blankets and throw pillows piled on top, and let his eyes wander. The dusty fireplace that seemed like it hardly got used, the rings on the coffee table, the slight scent of cigarette smoke that curled into the air when he disturbed the threadbare blanket. Yeah, Babe thought. He could get used to this.

Bill’s heavy, uneven footsteps gave him away as he made his way over, hands on his hips and jaw jutting out in the way he only did when he was feeling sentimental (or snarky, with Bill it really just depended on the day).

“You must have someone lookin’ out for your dumb ass, Babe. A/C’s a bit leaky, and there’s a stain in the kitchen that’s either blood or tomato sauce… But it looks good, Babe. Looks real good. And you can definitely afford it, even with your job, which is a fuckin’ miracle in and of itself. What do ya think?”

Babe paused, looking serious and contemplative as he bounced up and down on the couch. It was just the right amount of soft but firm, and it didn’t even squeak when he brought himself down hard as he could right in the middle. There was a small spot on the arm rest where the berry red of the fabric was charred and melted in the shape of a crescent moon.

Babe looked back up at Bill, brown eyes wide and genuine. “I like the couch.”

Bill, in turn, cocked an eyebrow and nodded. He turned to Debra with a shrug and, in an affirming voice - as if that settled the matter - announced: “He likes the couch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Here it is, chapter 2! Thank you so much for the kudos and comments I've gotten already, it means the world to me!
> 
> So, as you can tell, this marks the beginning of where we switch over to Babe's side of the story. There may be another chapter or two from Gene, later on, but the majority is going to be told from Babe's point of view. Partly because that's how it is in the movie, partly because he's just so damn fun to write. And where Babe is, Bill is always close by, right?  
> I kind of see their relationship as not only best friends but brothers. They're grown up together their whole lives. Bill is the baby of the family, so with Babe he gets to be that older brother he never was, but was always meant to be. He shoves him around, takes the piss, calls him a dumbass (because, let's be honest, he is), but at the end of the day he'll always take care of him, even if it puts him out in his own home. Babe knows this, and quite often he'll take full advantage.
> 
> The apartment building in the movie isn't quite as worn as I've made it out to be the story, and I definitely added that thing about the stain in the kitchen, but I feel like it fits both our boys better this way. Adds a little character. I honestly don't know how Gene would decorate his apartment, but... I guess, like this? I imagine everything is worn-in, lots of cozy things for those cold nights after a long shift, and little knick-knacks from friends or family that they gave to him as a joke but he treasures dearly. You'll see more things like that popping up in the future.
> 
> Anyway, leave a comment or kudos if you like, I would love it if you did! This was kind of just another little introduction, so I'll probably post another short chapter later on to really lead us into the story. ♥


End file.
